


Forfeit

by XYDamianKane



Series: One-Shot Requests [3]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU, Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: Enemies With Benefits, Extremely Dubious Consent, M/M, Pregnancy, Ra's Al Ghul's American Fetish, Trans Male Character, Unhealthy Relationships, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:22:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22978339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XYDamianKane/pseuds/XYDamianKane
Summary: Tim hates that Ra’s doesn’t have to overpower him to do this; he just had to know how to push. Tim knew he will lose, but he has to play anyways.
Relationships: Tim Drake/Ra's al Ghul
Series: One-Shot Requests [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1622770
Comments: 4
Kudos: 80





	Forfeit

**Author's Note:**

> Another anon request that I think was clearly right up my alley. Please mind the tags! Also, timeline wise, Tim is mid-to-late twenties.

Tim is no longer in uniform when he awakens. He’s between linen sheets in what feels like the Western-style bed Ra’s bought for him. At least he’s wearing pants, if nothing else, though he must have been changed into them while unconscious.

That doesn’t even _really_ register as alarming at this point.

He knows better than to flinch when he notices Ra’s, silhouetted in the morning light on the balcony of his room--the guest suite that occupies the far side of Eastern wing, if he’s judging the view and the floor-plan correctly. Ra’s is looking out at the mountains. Velvet cape, giant fur collar, and all. It would all be quite imposing if Tim didn’t know better.

 _Wait--the morning light_ , he thinks, as he realizes what that means. He’s been asleep for way too long. His frustration wakes him up.

“Ra’s. You let me waste so much time--”

“We are _not_ having this argument again. You needed the sleep to be functional, let alone at the level I need you at,” Ra’s cuts him off. He doesn't sound upset, just resolved.

Tim isn’t sure what to make of that. He looks around for his uniform, so he can eat a nutrition bar and get on with his day. It’s nowhere to be seen.

The read Tim’s getting from Ra’s is unsettling. Normally, Tim feels like he’s here as a kind of novelty to Ra’s: a debate partner, a chess adversary, a puzzle, or a strong, younger lover. And that’s fine. At least, it’s what he’s come to expect.

Ra’s turns back to look at him, and his gaze is heavier than usual, not lit up with amusement. Not like he's facing an enemy, per se. But it's unusual regardless.

Tim doesn’t ask, and he stays sat up in bed. He waits.

Ra’s gives in first and turns to walk back inside. He undoes the clasp on his cape—and he’s wearing nothing but gold jewelry in his ears and on his fingers, unless the black-satin varnish on his nails counts. Tim thinks about The Graduate has to stop himself from cracking a smile.

Ra’s sits at his side.

“What’s a word that’s stronger than favor? The noun, please.”

Tim thinks. “A service? An obligation?”

Ra’s seems to weigh his options.

“You owe me a service, then.”

Ra’s almost looks rueful in a way Tim’s never seen. The expression _really_ doesn’t suit him, and Tim’s skin crawls with unease.

“My operations...you know they mean all the world to me. I have given up so much to do what I must. And I am always put at risk for it—you know the constant turmoil of League politics, I complain about them constantly, I’m sure. I feel the need, after such a time, to re-establish my line’s security.”

“I need an heir. You are going to give me one.”

Tim’s mouth drops open and no words come out. His face must betray his empty shock.

“You know I don’t mean to disturb you for sheer sadism, it’s always to an end,” Ra’s says, his voice is almost gentle.

Tim knows he doesn’t want this from the sickness in his stomach, but the concrete reasons are out of his reach. It’s just not an argument he’s ever anticipated having.

He weighs his options.

He knows Ra’s would not be telling him all this if Tim could actually say no.

“I’ve thought about this for a long time, Detective. You have a long list of admirable qualities I’d want in an heir—and I know you will not join me yourself. But you will give me this.”

“Don’t you have people for this sort of thing?” Tim winces as the words come out.

“Whatever gave you the idea I would pursue quantity for its own sake? The Western idea of a harem was based on the misconceptions of a few truly ill-informed Victorians. You’re lucky I am not insulted.”

Ra’s crawls over him, with a smoldering, predatory look on his face.

It still makes Tim flush to be wanted so intensely, and his dick doesn’t really account for ulterior motives. He looks down, where their bodies almost touch, at the obscene bulge trapped under the sheet.

Tim sees no way out, so he reaches down and strips out of the pants, and he’s naked under Ra’s again.

He scoops Ra’s’ legs in his and gently flips them over before Ra’s lets him kiss his mouth, taking control. Always another mind game. At least this time, Tim knows why.

He positions his cock at Ra’s’ entrance. Ra’s must have been touching himself, given how slick his cunt already is. Tim rubs the head of his dick up the length of it and pushes it against Ra’s’ clit.

He rubs it there, delaying the inevitable, long enough for Ra’s to notice and clear his throat.

It’s wrong how easy it is to push deep inside him. It feels as tight and hot and good as it always does.

Ra’s kind of sighs, and his contentedness, his satisfaction, makes Tim’s heart beat rabbit-fast, somehow more anxiously.

The loose tangle of their legs keeps Tim gently pinned here, inside him. He knows Ra’s isn’t going to let him go, and he’s never truly understood claustrophobia until this moment.

Ra’s reaches up and positions his right hand around Tim’s throat—not squeezing, but not just resting there, either. A reminder that’s both threatening and the only thing keeping Tim tethered to reality right now. Tim counts four bright points of metal—Ra’s’ rings—that are cool and heavy against the skin of his throat.

“Maybe I just have some fixation with Americans,” Ra’s muses, while Tim is thrusting inside him.

“Well, Talia’s mother was not, strictly speaking, American, but that is where I met her. And in the beginning, Talia and I pursued your father jointly, as scandalous as that sounds now,” he huffs out a sigh, as Tim snaps his hips more roughly.

“Initially, we assumed it would be easier for me to bear his child than for him to bear Talia’s. We, of all people, should have known better than that. But America: maybe because I’ve seen its whole life, and I’m sure I will see its death.”

This is actually fairly typical dirty talk for them. Tim wants to fuck him harder, if only so he’ll stop.

There’s an uneasy, achy dissonance that he feels in his chest: it feels wrong that he’s still hard, still fucking deeper inside Ra’s. His hips drive forward of their own accord, and he hates himself for it.

He hates that Ra’s doesn’t have to overpower him to do this. He just had to know how to push-- Tim knew he will lose, but he has to play anyways.

Ra’s’ gaze is always intense, but it’s overwhelming like this, lidded green eyes looking at Tim, bright with expectation of what he’s going to take.

Tim has to stop thinking about it, and just let himself feel if he’s going to cum. Has to let the feeling of getting to cum inside wet, tight, heat overwhelm the anxiety of what that will mean. Reducing this to a physical release without thinking about the consequences is heady enough. He lets that feeling fill him, the same way it always does. His mind empties and his muscles twitch as he finishes.

“Really, you should feel honored. This child will save the world,” Ra’s says conversationally. He’s as imposing as ever, even lying under Tim and leaking his cum.

* * *

Tim’s flight home is a blur.

He tries not to think about what happened. The fact that he can keep Ra’s “out of sight, out of mind” makes it easier. He throws himself into domestic casework, declines any international assignments. He gets a lot of work done. The cold Gotham autumn sneaks up on him. The League is quiet enough to be a lower priority, but not so quiet as to arouse suspicion. And that’s suspicious on its own, but it can’t be helped: there are always more urgent matters he must attend to.

When he can’t help but remember, he tries to reason his way out of worrying: just because Ra’s has carried heirs before doesn’t mean he can now, or that Tim impregnated him over the course of a few days. People (mortals, anyways) have to try for months or years, sometimes, so it’s probably nothing to worry about.

That doesn’t stop him, but it’s the road his mind treads every time.

It’s winter when he sees Ra’s again.

He and Bruce are in their civilian roles at an embassy reception down in D.C.—Bruce gets these invitations all the time, out of some sense of obligation to him for being rich, but this is the first time he’s actually seen one as useful for gathering information.

Ra’s wears a Western-style suit with a sash in green and gold. The sharp lines of the suit have been tailored around the swell of his abdomen. His features are as sharp and rugged as ever, but it’s obvious to anyone who looks that he’s pregnant. And Tim wishes he hasn’t asked his stupid question about a harem, because then he wouldn’t immediately know that the child was his. Plausible deniability isn’t an option for himself anymore.

Tim feels like he’s going to be sick, and he’s not even the one with a reason.

Ra’s has the ambassador’s ear. They shake hands, and Ra’s smiles. He catches Tim’s eye and keeps smiling. He makes his way over to them.

“Congratulations,” is the first thing Bruce says, in a perfect, dry monotone.

“I so appreciate that,” Ra’s says, ignoring his tone. “Some might say I look more like a grandfather. Though you, too look the part more and more,” he gestures to Bruce’s hair, which is, admittedly, more silver at the temples than it used to be.

“You don’t have any grandchildren yet, do you, Detective?”

Bruce relaxes a little. “Not to my knowledge, I mean.”

Tim can’t open his mouth to say anything, because he knows that if he does, he’ll throw up on Bruce’s shoes.

“I think it would suit you.”

“I would ask what you’re doing here, but I know the answer I’m going to get.”

“Truly, the wisdom of the elders.”

“Just don’t kill anyone and we won’t have a problem.”

Ra’s has an odd smile on his face when he looks Tim in the eye and nods. He bows out, disappearing back into the party.

Tim excuses himself--not with words, but a tapped-out signal to Bruce that it’s urgent, but that he shouldn’t follow him--and he flees the embassy grounds entirely.

**Author's Note:**

> Tim calculates his odds and gives it up pretty easily, huh. He fucked this way into this mess and he'll fuck his way out, I guess.


End file.
